


Different Forms, Similar Minds

by Ebyru



Series: tw s02ep10 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the one the Kanima first lays its eyes on, not Matt. The outcome is much more positive (for everyone).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Forms, Similar Minds

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me during episode 10 of Season 2, so there are probably many spoilers.  
> In fact, I'm guessing the summary is a huge pile of spoilers. Oops?
> 
> This is un-beta'd because I have yet to find a Teen Wolf beta. lol.
> 
> Also, there will be no sequels/continuations to this. Sorry, I have enough on my plate.

Stiles is drooling against his steering wheel while the bottle of whiskey he stole from his father lounges in the passenger’s seat. It’s almost empty now and it was full when he first took it.

The sheriff would usually be fuming about this, but on the anniversary of Stiles’s mother’s death, he lets it all slide.

Stiles takes another swig, and when he pulls the bottle away he sees something in the rear-view mirror. He reaches for his keys in the ignition and they fall out somehow. He searches for them on the ground, underneath his feet, but it’s much harder when you can’t see straight.

There’s a tap at his window. Stiles swallows. If it’s the police, he needs to look sober and distract them from his inanimate passenger.

Finally having gathered his courage, he looks over. Stiles’s heart stops beating for a full 30 seconds.

Black scales and piercing blue eyes greet him. A clawed hand slowly raises and uncurls against the glass between them. Stiles sucks in a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the – the _thing_. Whatever it is.

Stiles makes a shooing gesture (blame the alcohol) and he can swear it…it rolled its eyes. The very blue, almost human eyes. Stiles stares because if he’s going to die anyway he might as well get a good look at what’s going to do it. The creature uses its nails to tap at the glass again, impatient now.

“W-what do you want?”

And it definitely rolls its eyes. Those soft, blue, _heartbreaking_ eyes.

“Jack—”

The creature nods stiffly. Stiles faints.

 

\---

 

When Stiles wakes up the creature – _Jackson_ – is gone, but so is the bottle of whiskey.

 

\---

 

At school, Jackson glares and seethes, but Stiles doesn’t remember having hit on Lydia recently. And weren’t they still broken up?

 

\---

 

One night, a week later, Stiles is looking up information on scaled-creatures with gorg- _boring_ blue eyes and long claws on his computer. He’s mostly found websites about dinosaurs and the Loch Ness Monster, but not much else. When he’s finally considering packing it up for the night, there’s a tap at Stiles’s bedroom window. 

Lo and behold.

Stiles ignores the hitch in his voice when he says, “Coming. Just a second.”

What if this version of Jackson wants to slice him apart and eat his spleen and step on his eyeballs and cook his stomach on a barbecue with an apron on that says ‘best cook in the supernatural world’—

 _Yep_ , even in this form Jackson rolls his eyes.

Stiles opens the window and runs away to the other side of his room, but Jackson follows him easily. He pins Stiles to the wall and hisses softly. Stiles nods, agreeing to be decapitated or deflowered – whatever really – because he’s not about to argue with Jackson when he’s even stronger than he used to be.

Jackson’s hand-claw thing raises slowly and it’s balled up. He takes his time uncurling each claw – to avoid scaring Stiles, but it doesn’t work – and Stiles eyes clench, his teeth chattering. Jackson hisses louder to get his attention. Stiles gulps and looks down. There are keys in his hand. Very nice, shiny keys that do not belong to Stiles.

“W-whose—”

Jackson points to himself, tilting his head. He moves away. Stiles rushes to the window.

Jackson brought him the keys to his _Porsche_. How did he even get it here like _this_? Not that it matters when he’s basically given Stiles permission to drive that sweet ride around.

The keys are dangling from one of Jackson’s claws, and Stiles pulls it away gently – who knows what sets him off in lizard form – and Jackson runs across the room and jumps out the window.

\---

 

Stiles never imagined he’d be sitting next to Jackson covered in scales with sharp teeth and even sharper claws while he drove this Porsche. Not that he fantasized about giving Jackson hand-jobs that made Jackson crash it while they were driving or anything. Not at all.

Jackson hisses and points at streets, and Stiles does the driving. At least the hand-job part isn’t coming true because Stiles probably wouldn’t have a dick left if Jackson tried.

 

\---

 

They arrive at a trailer, and Stiles is afraid all over again about being disemboweled and enjoyed with a side of stir-fried vegetables. Jackson is healthy like that.

But Jackson just rushes out of the car and waits for Stiles to join him. They aren’t even close enough to see inside and Stiles already knows what’s happening. There’s a man beating his wife - a woman who looks very much like Stiles’s mother – and he can’t help but feel the rage dig into his bones. Understanding dawns on Stiles very quickly then.

What do creatures like werewolves and Jackson do? They kill.

Stiles swallows around the anger, trying to let it simmer down before Jackson takes it as permission to kill that man.

He waves for Jackson to follow him, and surprisingly Jackson does. Slithering up behind Stiles, he can feel a sticky tongue lapping at the back of his neck. It’s disgusting, but it’s also a sign of trust that Stiles didn’t expect. He sighs with relief.

Stiles takes out his cellphone and shows it to Jackson.

“I’m just gonna call the police, okay? It would be bad for you to kill this guy. There are cops to ensure people like him are taken care of. So just – stop licking me, _god_ – ” Jackson hisses. “Fine, whatever, _lick away_. Go at it. But don’t expect me to not rub this in your face tomorrow when I see you at school.”

 

\---

 

Jackson ignores Stiles the next day in lacrosse. It’s even worse than being licked.

 

\---

 

They continue this odd routine; Stiles trying to figure out what Jackson is, and Jackson creeping into his room and slobbering all over his face and neck like a lizard-dog.

Each time, Jackson brings Stiles somewhere where someone is in trouble. And every time, Stiles calls the police instead of letting Jackson dirty his claws.

 

\---

 

Jackson stops ignoring Stiles in favour of being nice…and angry. Angrily nice? It suits Jackson just fine regardless.

He smashes Stiles into a locker then hands him an umbrella whispering how it’s going to rain after school. He trips Stiles in lacrosse and then offers to buy him supper while he helps Stiles stand back up. He insults Stiles’s clothes all the time, and after school there’s always a new piece of clothing hanging in Stiles’s closet.

_It’s nice to feel this loved._

Stiles ignores that he even thought that.

 

\---

 

Something’s different this week. Stiles can feel it in the way Jackson hisses louder and nearly scratches his seat open a few times in his haste to get to the destination.

 

\---

 

The man is ordinary and very, very drunk.

It takes a moment for Stiles to see the wrong; to figure out why Stiles should call the police. And then it's painfully obvious. This time, though, Stiles wants Jackson to rip his face off and wear it like a Halloween mask. Jackson must feel the stifling heat of Stiles’s anger because he stalks toward the man without bothering to look back.

That man –

Stiles could never forget his face even if he erased his memory ten times over. He’s the same drunk driver that killed Stiles’s mother. He served a few years, but it wasn’t nearly enough. And, apparently, he didn’t learn his lesson because here he is sitting behind the wheel of a car and _drinking_.

Stiles snaps out of his trance to see Jackson’s claws smash through the window of the car and drag the man out. His clothes catch on the broken glass, and Stiles winces when he hears the man cry out in pain. This isn’t how justice works. This will never bring Stiles peace. This will never bring _her_ back.

Jackson hovers over the man, turning to look at Stiles, his fangs bared and his claws pressing into the man’s arm.

“Stop!” Stiles yells as soon as one pierces through the man’s skin. The man shakes and then goes deathly still. “What did you do?!”

Jackson shuffles back, kneeling in front of Stiles, his tail wrapped affectionately around Stiles’s feet. Stiles drags his fingers across his short hair hard enough to hurt. Jackson lowers his eyes. Stiles drops onto his knees and pats Jackson – albeit awkwardly – trying to tell him it’s okay while not getting snot on him.

Jackson looks up and Stiles eyes are filled with tears. “Let’s go, Jacks.”

He stands, but his legs give out. Jackson catches him easily, careful despite his claws. He opens the passenger seat and puts Stiles in slowly. He jumps over the car and climbs into the driver’s seat.

By the time Stiles pulls himself out of his daze, Jackson is human again. And very naked.

Stiles wipes away his tears and starts unbuckling his jeans, “Here-”

“It’s okay, Stiles.” Jackson leans over his seat and pulls out a pair of jogging pants from the back. “Just close your door.”

Stiles gapes; awestruck by the softness of Jackson’s voice. He’s also never called Stiles by anything but his last name before. “O-okay.”

Jackson slips on the pants quickly and pulls away from this crime scene waiting to happen. Stiles can’t process any of what just happened so he doesn’t try. He can’t even think clearly enough to babble like he normally would.

 

\---

 

“I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jackson says when they pull up to his parents’ house. As in _not_ Stiles’s house.

“I-I hoped not,” Stiles stutters, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“He’s only paralyzed for a little while,” Jackson explains, turning off the ignition. He climbs out and circles to Stiles’s side. “You’re staying over tonight.”

Stiles hears that there’s no room for argument. Jackson is definitely scarier as a human than a lizard. Super strength be damned.

“Right, sure. I just need to call my dad.”

Stiles gets out since Jackson is holding the door open. He leaves his dad a message that he hopes will make some kind of sense; he can’t tell if he’s even speaking English anymore.

Jackson’s arm is around Stiles’s shoulders as they walk to the front door. Stiles leans into it, needing the comfort now more than ever. He almost let Jackson kill that man. His mom would have been so disappointed.

“Aren’t your parents going to wonder why I’m coming over so late?”

Jackson sighs. “They’re used to it. Besides, I don’t live with the sheriff.” Stiles looks over and Jackson is smiling. It makes him feel a bit better.

“Yeah, that’s true. My dad would have me handcuffed to my radiator if he knew what I was doing out so late,” Stiles says, looking down at his shoes.

 

\---

 

Everything is awkward again when they get to Jackson’s bedroom. Stiles fills the tension with his usual unwanted rambling that drives people to violence.

Jackson, surprisingly, doesn’t say anything. He does roll his eyes, though.

“Your room is like the size of my living room and the kitchen combined. Man, you must lose a lot of stuff in here. Mind if I steal a few things? You wouldn’t miss them, right?”

Jackson huffs out a laugh. “Feel free.”

Stiles stops in his tracks (he was going to raid Jackson’s cologne collection). “Really?”

“No.” Jackson smiles again, standing. “I want to talk to you.”

A chill runs down Stiles’s spine. Jackson sounds so serious, sincere, caring. It’s almost as though - no, _impossible_.

Silly Stiles, jocks aren’t for kids.

Jackson sits on his bed and taps the place next to him. “I just-”

“Do you know what you’re called? Your kind or whatever, I mean.” Stiles interrupts, plopping down on the bed.

“Oh, yeah. A Kanima. When I’m in that form, I have a - an _urge_ almost to exact revenge on people.” He combs his fingers through his hair. “For _you_.”

Stiles opens his mouth to reply with some quip, but it would feel out of place. “Huh.”

“And, ever since I saw you in your Jeep that first night, I’ve been looking for that drunk driver,” Jackson mutters, keeping his eyes away from Stiles. “I’d never seen you looking so sad. And that – that – _asshole_ did it to you and your dad.” He fists the fabric of his pants. “I wanted to make it better for you.”

Jackson chances a look at Stiles, and Stiles is crying again, but he’s smiling through it. “Thank you, Jacks.” He drags Jackson in for a hug, squeezing him tightly, whimpering into his neck.

Laughing softly, Jackson rubs Stiles’s back. “I’m glad I found a loser like you instead of some kid with a vendetta.”

Stiles pulls away slightly, looking into Jackson’s eyes. He looks different to Stiles now. He’s a protector, a friend. He’s safety wrapped in a human-shaped package – a beautiful, smug package – and Stiles thinks he maybe—

Jackson kisses Stiles at the same time that Stiles considers doing the same. Maybe the mind-control link works when Jackson is in his human form, too? That’s unfortunate. Stiles wanted to surprise Jackson with the kiss.

There’s chuckling against Stiles’s lips, and Stiles bites down in retaliation. The moan he gets is worth being pinned to the bed with Jackson’s heavy limbs keeping him down.

“What does this mean?” Stiles asks, holding on to Jackson’s bicep. Comfort, a kiss, _trust_.

“That I’m finally going to have some control over you now,” Jackson whispers, biting Stiles’s earlobe.

 

Stiles won’t argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated. :)


End file.
